You retreated to your rooms for the rest of their happy reunion, unable to bear the crushing disappointment one second longer. Tempting, sweeter than the devil's trill, one final option teased you, dancing on the edge of your mind.

"Leave your master," it whispered. "Betray your oath."

The wind was back, and it sung its agreement. "There is nothing left for you in this fortress of broken minds."

The castle creaked. "Nothing left for you but pain and sorrow."

You ignored the voices and stayed in Castle Renais.

He stayed by her side every day

It was like before, but not like before.

Then, when he had told her stories to pass the time, he'd expected no response.

Now, when he talked to her, she was able to reply.

Then, when he had taken care of her, she had been cold and lifeless.

Now, when he brushed her hair and fed her, she was able to smile in return.

Then, he had watched her lie motionless and frail.

Now, when he entered the room, she was able to whisper his name weakly.

Lyon is a miracle worker.

A doctor of the highest degree.

At least so your master told you. You no longer needed to see or feed the creature anymore, given your master's doting warmth towards the monster, but you feared for his rapidly waning sanity. No, not waning – he had completely lost it long ago; ever since the moment she died.

The castle was nearly in ruins now, the wind whistling through the many cracks in the floorboards. If you listened carefully, you fancied that you could hear the sounds of the walls' eventual decay, crumbling down from rot and maggots. And there would always be that dripping noise, dripping slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, and you were never able to pinpoint the broken pipe that was its source.

The months dragged by.

A dark-eyed necromancer appeared at the gates, claiming to be acquainted with Lyon. He brought with him an army of unholy soldiers, along with more servants for the castle. Your master barely noticed – he scarcely left his wife's side - and you had tried to turn the undead army away. But the sorcerer had been adamant, and would not let you refuse his creations.

As a result, instead of avoiding your master's room, you sought to be there as much as possible. You would rather spend an eternity with your master and his twisted mind than be surrounded by the undead creatures that now swarmed the castle. True, they were harmless and swept the floors and cleaned the dishes, but the dark emptiness in their eyes repulsed and horrified you. The façade of your late lady was preferable to the sheer multitude of the new servants' shambling, bent forms.

Your lord gave you a week's worth of vacation, noting the dark circles under your eyes and the gray tints beginning to show in your hair.

"Besides," he said. "Riev, Lyon's servant, has so kindly re-staffed our castle. Monica and I will be fine, and you will have time to recuperate."

That was when you had given up hope on your master ever returning to his senses. If he could not see that the new workers weren't alive, then what could possibly bring him back to reality?

But the undead servants did take care of the cooking and cleaning, and you gratefully departed the castle. You doubted that you would have lasted much longer – after all, you mind had already begun slipping off the edge of sanity.

Before you had gone to work for Orson, you had helped out your family with the farmwork. Since you were a little weaker than your brothers but more intellectually gifted, at least, so you thought, and your mother's sister was friends with one of the maids at the castle, you had been offered a position as a servant of the castle.

It had been ten years since the day you swore fealty to Orson, and now you were heading home once more. You visited every year, but now, the circumstances felt quite different.

Approaching the old farm that you once called home, you felt a twinge of unease. The fields lay fallow and overgrown with weeds. The family you knew would never have allowed this to happen, and you feared for their safety. The moon was waning, a sloping crescent casting ominous shadows.

"Mother? Father?" You carefully ventured forward and knocked on the door. "It's me, Janx."

A grating, metallic noise – and an eye peered down at you from the peephole up above. "It's him alright!" the voice shouted to the other people in the house. You recognized the voice – was it your brother, Ziv?

The door opened, and a pair of strong arms pulled you into a gruff embrace.

"Welcome home, Janx."

A/N: School starts in...a week! All this packing and stuff to do... x_x Cue writing at a snail's pace. I'll still update, but probably on a monthly basis...D: